Stranded
by Catie Kerwood
Summary: She doesn't belong in his world, she doesn't want to be in it. But she doesn't have any choice. She's a survivor, and now she has to learn to survive in a alien time, with The Phantom as her teacher.
1. I

Running, yelling, the sound of boots on pavement, the smell of gunpowder.

Music, singing, candle smoke.

Gunshots.

Keystrokes.

Running.

Singing.

Running.

Singing.

Running.

Silence.

Isabelle was lying facedown, cloaked in cool darkness, her cheek pressed against cool, damp stone. Standing, she pressed the small transmitter in her ear.

"Luke, Luke come in." there was nothing but static. "Blast." She said and yanked the transmitter out of her ear, throwing it into the darkness. Luke had said when he had given it to her that if it ever failed and gave only static to just get rid of it. She pulled a glow stick out of her black vinyl bag and cracked it, illuminating a small circle around her in a soft blue glow. She held it between her teeth and checked her guns, finding them in their shoulder holsters, the extra clips still in place on her belt. She grabbed the glow stick from her mouth and moved it around, illuminating her surroundings. It looked as if she were in a tunnel of sorts; there was the occasional drip of water and scurry of rats. She looked behind her and back and noticed a faint glow in front of her a long way down the tunnel. The faint sound of organ music floated into her ears and she started to walk, holding the stick out in front of her to light her path.

Just as the stick was starting to dim, the tunnel ended and she was left staring at a thin velvet drape over the doorway. Something crunched under her booted foot and she crouched down, picking up a piece of shattered mirror. Her golden eyebrow perked and suddenly the drape was drawn back and she was hauled up through the doorway. Her back was pressed against the wall by a hand around her throat. She looked at her attacker and saw half his face covered by a porcelain white mask, rage burning in his piercing green-gold eyes.

"I don't respond well to intruders, Mademoiselle. What are you doing in my home?" he asked in a deep voice and she grew angry.

"I don't respond well to acts of violence against me buddy. So let me go."

"Answer my question."

"Go to hell."

"I live in hell." he said and his hand tightened around her throat. For a distraction, her hand came up and ripped off the mask. He roared and threw her suddenly as if she were nothing. She felt herself falling, and there was a splash as she hit water. Just in case it was shallow, she braced for impact and her arms and back hit the bottom before her head did, thank god it was soft.

Erik found his mask after he had thrown the female intruder into the lake and put it back on, hiding his deformed features. He expected to hear splashing and cursing as the crude woman picked herself out of the shallow water but it was silent. He looked back and faintly saw her lying on the bottom, her eyes closed.

"Mon Dieu." He whispered in exasperation and went to the edge of the lake, walking into it and going to her, ready to pick her up before she drowned. The moment his hands met her shoulders her eyes snapped open and her hands came up out of the water, grabbing his shirtfront. One of her feet came up and pressed against his stomach, she suddenly pulled with her hands and pushed with her foot and tossed him over her into the water.

Isabelle stood from the water and walked up the shore, spitting water out of her mouth and wiping it from her eyes. She squeezed it from her long red braid and heard behind her as her attacker rose out of the water. She turned and put her hands on her hips, watching him fix his black wig and scoop his mask out of the water, one of his hands covering one side of his face. He turned his back on her and put the mask on, then turned to face her, wet, cold, and pissed off. He approached her slowly and she drew one of her guns, cocking it and holding it level with his forehead making him stop.

Erik looked at the object in her hand, not knowing what it was. It resembled a pistol but it was squared off.

"And what is that Mademoiselle?" he asked and she perked an eyebrow at him. Turning, she aimed at one of the busts sitting on his pipe organ and squeezed, the loud sound echoed through the cavern and the bust exploded in the barrage of dust and bits of weak stone. She aimed it back at him.

"Now imagine what it'll do to _your_ head." She said and he nodded. He held up his hands in surrender and she narrowed her eyes at him before lowered the weapon, putting it back in holders strapped to her shoulders.

"Why did you toss me into the water?"

"Because you did the same to me." Isabelle said with a shrug and he nodded, once again walking towards her. Her hand drifted to the weapon, a matching one on her other side and he held up his hands again. Her hand went back to her side and he stood a little ways in front of her.

"I'm impressed, and I don't impress easily."

"By what?"

"You knew how to defend yourself, you knew exactly what my weakness was and you used it to your advantage."

"Its called survival."

"I believe proper introductions are in order. I am Erik." He said bowing to her slightly with one hand against his chest and the other against his lower back.

"I'm Isabelle Knight." She said and held out her hand, he looked at it as he stood and took it. But instead of shaking it like she had meant for him to do, he turned it and kissed the back. She gently withdrew her hand, his lips dragging against her skin and she blushed. Starting to get cold she shivered and he looked at her, all the previous rage gone from his eyes.

"You must be cold." He said and walked past her, getting a velvet blanket and draping it on her shoulders. She thanked him, suspicious, and watched as he went behind a sheer black curtain, removing his wet shirt letting her see a strong back and shoulders, he got another shirt and put it on, tucking it into his pants. Those he'll change later when his guest is gone. Looking back and seeing her watching him with a furrowed brow, he pulled the cord and the curtain drew up. She pulled the blanket around her shoulders and continued to watch him as he walked near her. "How did you come to be in that tunnel?"

"I don't know. I was running down a street one moment, the next I'm lying against stone. Where am I?"

"You are under the Opera Populaire." She gave him a blank look. "Paris, France." She then let out a mumbled string of curses unbefitting of her gender. Pushing the blanket off of one arm she looked at a band around her forearm and pressed it, letting out another string of curses. Unsnapping it from her arm, she removed it.

"Whatever the hell got me here shorted out my positron-communicator." She mumbled and sighed at his confused look. "Never mind. What year is it?"

"The summer of 1875." She let out another string of profanities, this time at the top of her lungs.

"Two hundred years!" she roared then sank to her knees. "Two hundred years." she whimpered.

"I don't…understand." Erik said.

"I don't expect you would. I'm stranded Erik, stranded from my own time…2075."


	2. II

Isabelle was kneeling, defeated in mind and soul, on the stone floor of the cavern.

_Two hundred years. _She thought, her eyes prickled and she felt like crying but didn't. Even now the tears wouldn't come. Erik stood in front of her and she looked up at him, a lost look in her sage green eyes. He's seen that look only once before, and it had been in his own eyes when Christine has rejected him.

"Mademoiselle Knight?"

"Yes Erik?" she asked and his answer was only to crouch down and pick her up in his arms. She laid her head against his chest, finding illogical comfort in his warmth and nearness. Blissful numbness started to sweep over her mind and she closed her eyes, feeling as he walked, carrying her. Her back met soft bedding and her eyes opened, seeing him leaning over her, lying her down on his bed. She unsnapped the strap to her bag and took it off along with the shoulder holsters, removing the clips from her belt and putting those in the bag along with the holsters. Erik gently took the bag from her and set it aside, reaching over and getting a wooden comb. He motioned for her to sit up and she did. He climbed on the bed behind her and removed the tie from her braid, starting to undo it. He combed through her red locks and she started to feel incredibly relaxed by the feeling (and occasional tug) of the comb through her hair, and his fingers on her scalp and temples running through her hair.

Isabelle leaned her back against his chest and Erik set the comb aside, massaging her scalp with his fingertips. He pushed all her hair over one shoulder and massaged the base of her neck and her shoulders, working out the large amount of tension that he found there.

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

"You impressed me, I respect that Mademoiselle Knight."

"Erik?"

"Oui?"

"Call me Isabelle, or Belle for short."

"How very fitting."

"What do you mean?"

"'Belle' means 'beautiful'." He said simply and she looked up at him from over her shoulder. "It is a beautiful name." The corner of her mouth perked and she relaxed, looking forward. Her eyes closed once more and she started to slip under. His hands were suddenly at her back, pushing her forward gently so he could get off the bed and then lying her back down. He covered her with a blanket and she heard as he left.

Erik sat at his pipe organ, writing and touching the keys in preparation for actually playing the music. But he couldn't play now, with Isabelle asleep just a short distance away.

It's been almost five years to the day since he last had a woman asleep in his bed. Albeit a strange and mysterious woman…from the future. Part of him didn't want to believe her, but with the advanced technology that she had shown him, he knew that she had been truthful with her origins.

Standing from his seat, he went to the sheer black curtain and looked through at her, sleeping on his bed of red velvet. He raised the curtain silently and picked her bag off the floor, leaving, drawing the curtain down, and going back to his seat.

As he examined the bag he saw that there were no obvious signs of how she opened it. But there was a metal loop. Grabbing it in his fingers he pulled it down and as he did a large gash appeared in the strange fabric, getting larger the more he pulled. The gash stopped and he couldn't pull anymore. He spread the gash and peered inside, seeing many foreign objects. Her pistols and (when he looked at the pieces that she removed from her trousers) extra shot. Setting those aside he pulled out several semi-transparent rods, and when he was testing the strength of one it cracked. Fearing he had broken it, he looked for the break when it started to give off a soft blue light. He cracked it several more times and soon he had a brightly glowing rod in his hand, it gave off no heat but still glowed as brightly as the candles scattered in candelabras around the cavern, only blue.

The fabric of the bag was still wet from her trip into the lake, but the contents of the bag were dry. He put all the objects back into the bag and pulled the metal loop back, the gash closing and the bag becoming whole once more.

Several hours later Isabelle awoke with a start in a strange swan shaped bed, covered with red velvet bedding. Removing her six-inch boot knife, she got out of the bed and pulled a cord, the black curtain retreating into the ceiling. She held the blade parallel with her wrist, the edge facing outward. Leaving the small bedroom area she looked around at the candle filled cavern until her pale violet eyes settled on a familiar figure sitting at a pipe organ. Crouching down, she slid the knife back into the sheath in her boot and straightened, walking to him.

"You slept like the dead." He said without turning around and she paused in her steps.

"Must have been more tired than I realized." He then turned to face her and she saw once again how ruggedly handsome he was. Half of his face was still covered by the mask and the black wig was slicked back. He turned back around and started to speak again. "I have sent a note to Madame Giry, the Opera House's ballet teacher, on your behalf. Can you dance?"

"No."

"Can you sing?"

"Tone deaf."

"I am sure she will find some use for you."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Do you have to question everything I do, Isabelle?"

"Suspicion is my nature. Now answer my question."

"You do not know this time, so living on your own outside the Opera House is…out of the question. If you live and work here, you will adapt more quickly because you will have help."

"What exactly did you tell this Madame Giry about me?"

"Only that you were a young woman in need of a position at the Opera House."

"And?"

"That is all." he wasn't telling her all of it.

"Erik, tell me the truth." He sighed.

"I told her that you were a woman from outside of Paris in need of a job. I told her to inform the managers of the Opera Populaire of your arrival and recruitment and have them start a salary of 100 francs a week for you. I also told her to gather clothing fitting a slender woman of medium height because the clothes that were in her possession will simply not do." He said and she looked down at her black fatigues.

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" she asked and he looked her up and down, seeing her form fitting, semi-lustrous long sleeved shirt that was tucked into black pants.

"It's not…appropriate to this time period. Now if you have any other suspicions they will simply have to wait Mademoiselle. I grow tired of answering your question." His frank dismissal made anger well up inside her.

"Who the hell do you think you are? If I have more questions you certainly damn well answer them. Do you understand me?" she said with her arms crossed over her chest and he stood from his seat walked towards her. She considered going for her boot knife as he leapt up the stone steps standing in front of her, towering over her by several inches. She met him glare for glare as he tried to stare her down. That mask was really starting to annoy her.

"I, Mademoiselle Knight, am The Phantom of the Opera." He growled.

"You could be the Pope, no one speaks to me like that except for my superiors. And you aren't my superior." She spat back and he grabbed her upper arms quickly and roughly, his long fingers almost completely wrapping around her biceps.

"You will soon learn that everyone is afraid of the mere _thought_ of me Mademoiselle."

"I'm not, so that's not everyone." She whispered harshly, pushing her face very close to his. His fingers tightened around her arms, almost to the point of bruising and she kept the pain from entering her eyes, not wanted to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was hurting her. He pushed her back against the wall and his hands slid down to her wrists, grabbing them and pulling them over her head, pushing them into the stone. She bucked against him but it was a mere annoyance to him.

The sole of her right combat boot came down on his instep and he grunted in pain, his grip on her wrists loosening enough to allow her to yank them from his grasp. She grabbed his arm and swept his legs out from under him. He went down hard onto his back; she kicked him to his stomach and stretched his arm up in the air. His arm turned so it put pressure on his shoulder socket, her fingers around his wrist and her left foot planted firmly in the center of his back.

"Never talk to me, or treat me like that again. Do you understand me?" she asked but received only a curse. She pushed his arm forward and he grunted in pain again as the arm threatened to pop out of the socket. "Do you understand me?" she asked again.

"Yes." He growled.

"Yes ma'am!" she commanded, suddenly back in boot camp.

"Yes ma'am." He said and Isabelle released his arm, taking her foot off his back. Erik got to his feet and rubbed his shoulder, rotating it. "Who are you?"

"I'm Captain Isabelle Knight of the United States Military, Special Forces Unit."


	3. III

The gondola ride and the long walk to the diva's dressing room were in silence. They came to the mirror entrance and she could see a woman standing in the room, a bundle at her feet.

"That's Madame Giry." Erik said and pressed the mirror, it sprang open and he slid it back. He tugged on a lock of her hair and before she could snap at him, he was gone, the sound of his boots echoing in the passage.

"Come my dear." Madame Giry said and Isabelle stepped into the room. Madame Giry made several tsking noises in disapproval. "Completely inappropriate for a girl your age."

"First Erik now you! What the hell is wrong with my fatigues?" Isabelle asked fiercely, her voice rising. The older woman in front of her banged her cane against Isabelle's knees. "Ow! What the fuck was that for?"

"Foul language will not be tolerated Mademoiselle. You continue to use such words and your knees shall constantly be bruised!"

"You hit me with that thing again and I'm breaking it over my knee."

"You wouldn't dare such a thing." Madame Giry challenged, glaring at her.

"Try me." Isabelle said glaring back and they squared off. It was a battle of wits, the ballet instructor against the soldier. Madame Giry cracked a small, rare smile suddenly.

"Something tells me that we will get along quite well Mademoiselle Knight."

"If we don't kill each other first, Madame Giry." Isabelle said.

"Now get changed into the clothing that I have brought you. The managers of the Opera House will be looking for me, and I have a ballet to instruct." She said and Isabelle grabbed the bundle, going behind the privacy screen to change. When she was done getting dressed, she reached into her bag and pulled out a hair clip from one of the outside compartments. She twisted her hair up and secured it with the clip. She stuffed her clothing into the bag and came out from behind the screen. Madame Giry inspected her long sleeved and high collared ashen gray linen dress. Isabelle tugged at the collar and Madame Giry slapped the back of her hand and got a glare in return. Madame Giry nodded at her receiving the message of 'never do that again' through the look.

"So what will I be doing?"

"Well if you cannot sing or dance…"

"Which I can't."

"Then you will be my assistant, run errands for me."

"Okay. What kind of errands?"

"Get another pair of ballet slippers for a dancer and so forth."

"Alright."

"Now come Mademoiselle Knight, there is much to do."

That night Isabelle lay on the daybed in her new room, her hands behind her head and her eyes fixed on the ceiling. Madame Giry had introduced her to the cast and crew of the Opera Populaire, and she had been automatically sized up by the prissy and extremely spoiled diva Carlotta Guidacelli. She had just perked an eyebrow at her and clucked her tongue, her normal action with a new soldier surprised to find that a woman would command him. Carlotta…her ego being severely inflated over the years had met her eye for eye, challenging her to back down. After several tense minutes Carlotta looked away and Madame Giry had given Isabelle a proud look, making her feel as if she had passed some kind of test.

Meg Giry, Madame Giry's one and only daughter, had been a sweet girl, introducing herself with a polite curtsey and giving her a warm hug, welcoming her to the Opera House. She reminded Isabelle a lot of her self when she was that age, young, innocent and terribly naïve.

Isabelle got off the bed and changed back into her fatigues. She dragged the cushioned seat from her vanity into the middle of the room and laid down on the floor face down, her feet propped up on the seat and her hands under her. She began to do pushups, the muscles in her arms flexing and cording with the effort. The material her fatigue shirt was made of wicked away the sweat leaving her skin dry. She did about two hundred or so before she called it quits, brushing a lock of damp hair off her forehead. There was a knock on her room door and she went to it, opening it and finding children out there, a couple holding steaming buckets of water and a couple holding a large porcelain tub.

"We have brought your bath Miss Knight." The lead boy said and she stepped aside, kicking the seat back under the vanity. They set the tub down and poured the water into it.

"Thank you." Isabelle said and they nodded, leaving, she locked the door behind them. Isabelle noticed bottles on the vanity and opened several, figuring out which one was the shampoo. Disrobing, she slid into the tub and almost groaned. At the barracks, hot water was a rarity, and she often found herself taking five-minute freezing showers. She undid her hair and it fell outside the tub, she pulled it into the water and it pooled around her. Sliding down she immersed her self and slicked back her hair. Reaching for the bottle that she had set down beside the tub she washed her hair and immersed again, getting the suds out of her long locks. She grabbed a small sponge on her vanity and washed her self.

Erik watched through the mirror as she bathed. He was about to visit her to see how she was adapting when he caught her undressing. He stood transfixed on his side of the mirror by the way she was formed. Lithe, strong musculature and long limbs encased in luminous pale skin. After washing her had she had washed her body and he found himself staring at the sponge as it traveled along her arms and legs slowly.

He raised his hand to press the mechanism on the mirror when she stood from the tub, water and suds streaming down her body, weighing down her hair that ended at the bottom of her buttocks. She pulled on a cotton robe, stepping out of the tub and grabbed a heavy handled brush from the vanity, starting to brush her hair.

Getting all the tangles out she put it up again and relaxed on her bed, closing her eyes. He pressed the mechanism and pushed the mirror aside.

"You enjoy the show?" her words stopped him.

"How do you know I was watching?"

"I could hear you breathing. You don't have a cold do you?"

"No. Why?"

"You sounded a bit congested." She said and cracked an eye open to look at him. She snorted at his immaculate appearance. "Don't you ever relax?" in response he stripped down to his shirtsleeves and laid his coat, vest, and cravat on the stool of her vanity, leaving the mask in place.

"Better?" he asked.

"Much." She scooted over on the daybed and patted the spot she made. He lay down next to her, crossing his ankles and she curled up against him, her warm hand sliding into his shirt to touch his chest. He knew he should remove her hand from its station but she wasn't making a sexual advance on him, she was merely getting comfortable.

"Tell me about your time Belle." He said but she had already fallen asleep, pressed against his side.


	4. IV

Isabelle woke to an empty bed, a single rose next to her on the pillow. She picked it up and looked at it, turning onto her back. It was a perfect, deep red rose bloom; a black velvet ribbon tied in a bow around the green stem. Bringing it to her nose, she smelled the bloom. She's heard stories, descriptions of what roses smelled like from the older commanding officers, but they didn't compare. She's seen pictures of roses, in all colors and various stages of growth, but it didn't compare to actually holding one in her hand. Roses, no matter what the kind, have been extinct for the past…thirty years.

She got up, still holding the rose in her hand. Setting it down on the vanity, she washed her face, did her morning exercises and got dressed. She took the binding out of her hair and it fell around her in waves from having it twisted up and it drying like that. She brushed through her hair, getting the tangles out and plaited it in a braid that ended at the small of her back. It wasn't regulation since it fell past the bottom of her collar (or the base of her neck) but there weren't any of her superior officers around to reprimand her.

She put the rose in a small crystal vase on the vanity and left the room, going into the kitchens where everyone was gathered for breakfast. Picking at her food, and taking scant sips from her tea, she started to receive worried looks from Madame Giry and some of the older female staff.

"Are you feeling ill Mademoiselle Knight?" the ballet tutor asked, coming to her side.

"I'm feeling fine Madame Giry."

"You've hardly touched your food."

"I guess I'm not very hungry. Madame Giry, may I speak with you a moment…alone?" Isabelle asked and Madame Giry nodded. She stood and they went out of the kitchen into the empty hallway. "I need to talk to you about _him._" Isabelle had heard the gossip about the 'Opera Ghost' from the ballet girls, and had heard about the bounty on his head from Madame Giry. What she didn't hear about however is what had _led _to the placement of said bounty.

"What do you wish to discuss?"

"He stopped by last night, I don't know why." She said, wisely deciding to leave out the fact that he had 'stopped by' when she was bathing and he had watched her like some kind of Peeping Tom. "When I woke up this morning, I found a rose next to me."

"A rose." The tone of her voice suggested that she needed more information.

"Yes. A rose with a black ribbon tied around the stem. Tell me Madame Giry. Has he ever done anything like this before?"

"Only once before, with a young girl named Christine Daae."

"Tell me about it."

"Not now Mademoiselle Knight, later tonight when I can ensure more privacy." She said and Isabelle nodded. Madame Giry went back into the kitchen and Isabelle walked along the halls. She stopped, hearing what sounded like the fluttering of birds' wings and looked up seeing a white envelope with black edging falling towards her. She snatched it out of the air and looked at the seal, a grinning skull made of red wax.

_So dramatic._ She thought, she tore the envelope open and pulled out a note.

_Belle,_

_I am very curious about your time period, so I have some questions for you. I will be stopping by your room tonight, so ensure that you are…fully clothed this time. The sight of your nude body wasn't terrible, far from it in fact. I will keep your dignity intact and not stare at you whenever you are in a state of undress, unless told otherwise of course._

_Until tonight._

_Signed,_

_Erik_

Isabelle allowed herself a small smile and she tore the note into quarters, getting rid of it in a trash bin.

"Isabelle!" she heard and saw Meg come running up to her. "Why aren't you in breakfast?"

"Why aren't you?"

"Oh I ate earlier. Oh Isabelle that smile on your face, I know what that means."

"You do?"

"Yes! You have a suitor of course!" she said and Isabelle resisted the urge to laugh.

"A suitor? Meg I've only been in the Opera House for a day, it's far too soon for me to have a suitor!"

"But I remember seeing some of the stage hands eyeing you, especially Gaston. He couldn't seem to keep his eyes off of you!"

"I'm sure he was just wondering where I came from."

"Don't underestimate your beauty Isabelle. Now was it his love letter that you were throwing away? Because if it was that isn't very nice."

"No it was just a note from Management, welcoming me to the Opera House."

"But the smile…"

"I had a very good dream last night and am still suffering from the effects."

"Oh I see!" Meg said smiling.

"Hello Mademoiselle Knight." They looked up seeing Gaston standing on one of the catwalks, leaning against the railing and looking down at them.

"I think I hear Maman calling!" Meg said and quickly whisked herself away. Gaston grabbed a rope and climbed down, his muscular arms flexing under his shirt, the sleeves of which he had rolled up. He hopped down in front of her.

"Hello Gaston." She said, looking at him. He was tall, almost as tall as Erik, his brown hair in a small ponytail at the back of his neck. A short scruffy beard covered his jaw and upper lip and his soft brown eyes looked down at her. He was very handsome, and _very_ well formed, judging by the way his shirt and leather vest stretched across his chest, back and shoulders and the way the shirt cuffs were tight around his biceps.

"You look beautiful today Isabelle." He said looking down at his feet.

"Thank you Gaston." She could have sworn that he blushed under that beard.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yes I did."

"Are you liking the Opera House?"

"Yes."

"Isabelle I don't mean to intrude on your privacy, but at your home…are you…do you have any personal engagements with anyone?"

"You're asking me if I'm with anyone, romantically?"

"Yes."

"No Gaston, I'm not."

"Good, because I didn't want you to feel guilty."

"About what?"

"About this." He then stooped down and kissed her. Stunned for a second by his actions, she didn't respond, but then she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed back, her eyes fluttering closed. She was suddenly picked off her feet by arms around her waist. He parted her lips and deepened the kiss, making her go weak inside. He broke the kiss, kissing her lips gently before setting her back on her feet.

"Oh my." Isabelle said dazedly.

"Did you not enjoy it?" Gaston asked, his brows knit together, and she smiled.

"I haven't been that thoroughly kissed since I was a sixteen." She said and he smiled.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it Isabelle." He said softly and kissed her lips tenderly once more. "I must go, Madame Giry will be looking for you." They took their arms from around each other and he left. Hearing a noise above her she looked up seeing Erik, his white mask gleaming in the lightof the hall. His top lip curled up in a snarl and he vanished with a flourish of his cape.


	5. V

Okay, in a couple reviews I got suggestions on the cadence of Erik's speech. For the most part, I write Pitch Black/Riddick, The Fast and the Furious, and Triple-X fanfiction. PB/R is set in 24th century (Duck Dodgers in the 24th and a ½ Century! Sorry had to add that in), TFATF is set nowadays and so is xXx. Its gonna take me a bit to get the cadence of the 1875 time period down, but I will try…I promise. I may (and probably will) fail miserably, but I'll try.

For the better part of the day Isabelle was on her last nerve.

_What the hell is he all snarly about? Better yet, why the hell do I care! _She's thought several times throughout the day.

It was after lunch and Madame Giry was running drill with the dancers. Scanning the girls, Isabelle noticed someone was missing, Lisette. She started looking for the missing ballerina and found her fawning over stagehand whose name she didn't know.

"Lisette!" Isabelle barked and the girl jumped, looking at her. "Aren't you supposed to be somewhere? With Madame Giry and the rest of the dancers doing drills? You!" she looked at the stagehand next, "Leave!" she ordered and he left quickly.

"But Mademoiselle Knight…" Lisette started, a whine to her voice and Isabelle turned her gaze on her again.

"Don't 'but Mademoiselle Knight' me young lady! Drop down and give me twenty!" she commanded, pointing at the floor and Lisette looked at her in confusion.

"Twenty what?"

"Push-ups!"

"What's a 'push-up'?

"It's when you lay down on the ground face down and push yourself up with our arms. Hence the name 'push-up'. Understood?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now do twenty of them."

"You can not be serious."

"Oh but I am, and be grateful that I'm not making you do fifty. Now do them!" she ordered and Lisette dropped to the ground, starting to do the commanded push-ups, counting them off out loud. Around nine, Madame Giry and the other girls, whose attention had been caught by the orders, came over. Several of the girls broke into laughter, seeing one of the oldest ballet dancers doing push-ups. Isabelle silenced them with a glance.

"Mademoiselle Knight, what is Lisette doing?" Madame Giry asked.

"Push-ups, it's a kind of exercise." Lisette looked up at them and Isabelle pointed back down. "Don't concentrate on us! You still have seven more to do!" Lisette looked back at the floor.

"Why is she doing these…push-ups?"

"Discipline."

"Discipline?"

"I caught her neglecting her duties as a dancer, not doing the drills with the rest of the girls. This way, she'll be less inclined to do it again. Less she wants to do more than twenty and I will increase the number every time I catch her. I apologize if I'm undermining your authority."

"No it's quite all right. Did they do this where you are from?"

"Yes, they either had us to push-ups, or they would fix two, fifty pound weights to our back and have us run as fast as we can up a steep hill."

"There!" Lisette exclaimed, jumping to her feet, "Twenty! Madame Giry I was just…"

"Foolish girl!" Madame Giry snapped and the dancers broke into a fit of giggles, Isabelle silenced them again with a glance. "Mademoiselle Knight's idea of making you do physical exercises as punishment is a fine idea in deed! Be happy that I do not take a page out of her book and strap a sandbag to your back and make you run up the length of the Opera House, top and bottom!" Lisette paled. "Now! Go with the rest of the girls back to the practice room!" She joined the girls and Madame Giry turned on them. "If I catch any of you misbehaving or neglecting your duties, I shall deliver you into Mademoiselle Knight's tender mercies! If Mademoiselle Knight catches you, she has my full permission to punish you any way she sees fit. Barring beatings of course. Now back to the practice room, all of you and begin your drills once more." The girls left and Madame Giry turned back to Isabelle. "Thank you for dealing with Lisette."

"I apologize for undermining your authority Madame Giry."

"Do not apologize Isabelle."

"But I should, I'm sorry Madame Giry." Isabelle said and Madame Giry laid a hand on her shoulder. It stayed there for a while before she lowered it back to her side.

"Come Isabelle, let's go back to the practice room." Madame Giry said and Isabelle nodded.

That night Isabelle lay on her bed, once again staring up at the ceiling. She was waiting for either Madame Giry or Erik to show up. It was becoming harder for her to open her eyes every time she blinked and keep them open when they were.

Erik slid back the mirror and saw Isabelle asleep on her bed, curled on her side with a hand under her head. Going to her he picked her up in his arms.

"Erik?" she asked and he looked down at her. "Okay, just checking." Her eyes closed and she was asleep once more.

Madame Giry approached Isabelle's room and saw that the door was slightly ajar. She knocked on it gently with a knuckle.

"Isabelle?" she asked gently and pushed open the door, seeing the tails of a coat leaving through the mirror. It slid close and she went to it, putting her hand to the chill glass. "Erik…what are you doing?"


	6. VI

You may have noticed that in the second chapter her eyes changed from sage green to pale violet. That was a mistake on my part and I'm sorry for any confusion. Before I submitted I had gone through the chapters of the story and had changed the color of her eyes, obviously I missed one reference. I apologize again.

Erik, in his shirtsleeves, looked down at the woman once again sleeping in his bed. He tried to stay mad at her for kissing that stagehand, but found himself unable to. Why had he been mad at her in the first place? He didn't know. All he knew was that seeing her kissing that man, being locked in his embrace had angered him so greatly. An anger that he has not felt since Christine had betrayed him.

Christine, that name still drove pain and sorrow into his heart. But this woman, Isabelle, was nothing like Christine. Christine had been innocent, with her big doe eyes and waif-ish appearance. They only thing these women had in common were general femininity, although Isabelle did stretch that role to the breaking point. With her proficiency in weapons and fighting and her athletically muscular body, she was in no way a 'traditional lady'.

Bending down, he lightly traced the smooth line of Isabelle's jaw with his fingertips. Her eyes opened and he was once again struck by the purity of her pale violet eyes.

"Erik?" she asked and he stopped staring at her eyes.

"Yes Belle?"

"When I kissed Gaston...why were you so angry?"

"I haven't the faintest idea."

"My attraction for him is physical. That's all, and besides, he kissed me, I just kissed back."

"That is not reassuring."

"Why would it be? Do you need reassuring? And what do you need reassurance of?" Isabelle and he thought about her words. While he was thinking she got off the bed and stood in front of him, looking up at him. "Erik." He snapped out of his thoughts to look down at her. "Why were you angry when Gaston kissed me?" she asked again.

"I do not know Belle." Her hand raised but dropped back to her side, as if she had wanted to touch him but thought better of it. She pulled the cord and the curtain went up, giving her an escape. She left his bedroom and walked down the stone steps, going to the far end of the cavern. He slowly walked up behind her and held her arms in his hands. Backing up a bit, he removed the tie from her braid and unwound it, letting her hair fall in fiery waves to the tops of her thighs. He touched her silky hair, winding a lock in his fingers.

"I should get back." She said and he backed up, she turned to him and he nodded.

The trip back was quiet. He left her at her room, making his silent exit.

Isabelle stood in her room for a little while, her clock striking midnight and chiming softly. She did her exercises and laid down on her bed, closing her eyes and falling into exhausted sleep.

The sound of someone knocking on her door woke her up.

"Isabelle!" it was Madame Giry, Isabelle had the day off today. What on earth did she want?

"Come in!" Isabelle called out from her bed. The door opened and she entered, closing the door behind her.

"When did you get back?"

"Midnight." She said and opened her eyes.

"What happened when you were in his home?"

"I slept, I woke up, we talked, I left. In that order."

"What did you two talk about?"

"That is between me and him."

"Mademoiselle, you asked me why Erik has this bounty. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Then I shall tell you." And she did. Madame Giry told Isabelle about Christine Daae and the scandal that rocked Parisian society. She told her of Erik's deep love for the girl, and she told her of Raoul. "I do not know what happened down in his home Mademoiselle, only that I stopped receiving notes from him and he seemed to disappear for five years. Since you arrived there have been sightings of the Opera Ghost more and more. Mademoiselle I beg you to be careful. Erik has not been touched at all except to be beaten or abandoned. Please Isabelle, be careful around him."

"Thank you for telling me Madame Giry, and I can take care of myself, he knows that all too well."

"Now I will leave, you look tired."

"Thank you Madame Giry."

Gaston stopped by around noon and after she got changed into fresher clothes, they had a picnic on the roof. Erik didn't visit that night and she paid it no attention, he was probably busy doing whatever it is that he did. Isabelle soon found that the catwalks that formed a maze above the stage were extremely sturdy so she started to do lifts, her hands gripped around one of the bars and her feet dangling down, her knees bent to add extra weight.

She was doing these lifts one night when Gaston appeared above her.

"Bonjour Isabelle."

"Hi Gaston." She said when she raised herself.

"You're dressed very oddly." He observed, indicating to the fatigues that have become her exercise clothes.

"It would be very awkward to do these in a dress." She said and pulled herself up, ignoring his offered hand and climbing onto the platform. Putting his arms around her waist he pulled her against him. Their lips met in a deep kiss that left them both gasping. As they kissed again, her hands crept under his shirt to touch his abs making him chuckle into her mouth.

"Where is she!" Lieutenant Luke Benton demanded.

"We don't know Sir." A man said and Luke turned on him.

"Then why aren't you finding her."

"We're working as hard as we can Sir, it's just that she could be any where in time."

"I don't want to hear excuses. I want to see results. Find her!"

Isabelle finished doing her exercises when her bath arrived. After thanking them and she disrobed, sliding into the hot water. She took a deep breath and submerged herself completely in the water, looking up through it as it calmed and became smooth as glass except for the occasional ripple. An air bubble escaped her nose and she blinked. She closed her eyes and listened to the heavy rhythmic thud of her heartbeat in her ears.

Gaston knocked on her door.

"Isabelle?" he asked but received no answer, he tried the doorknob and found the door unlocked. Pushing it open he looked into the room and saw the large tub in the center of the floor, but no Isabelle. _I'll wait for her to return._ He thought with a smile and entered the room, closing the door behind him. As he walked to her daybed he glanced down at the tub and saw her lying at the bottom, her eyes closed. "Isabelle!" he exclaimed and rushed to the side, plunging his arms in and grasping her shoulders with his hands, pulling her to the surface. Her eyes opened and she blinked at him, her hands raised and she brushed water out of her eyes and her hair away from her face. "Are you alright? Did you hit your head?" he asked and looked for a wound.

"I'm fine, and no I didn't hit my head." She said after a great expulsion of air.

"Isabelle." He said and pulled her to his chest, hugging her tightly. "I saw you lying at the bottom, motionless with your eyes closed, it frightened me so badly."

"I'm getting you wet." She said and he chuckled, pushing her away so he could look at her.

"I do not care." He said and she shivered. "You're cold." He said and looked around for her robe.

"Were you really worried about me Gaston?" he looked at her again.

"Why yes, I was." He said, seemingly surprised at her question. She kissed him then and his arms went around her once more, holding her tight against his chest. Her arms came around his neck as he picked her up from the water.

"I'm dripping on the floor." She said when she pulled away and he smiled, lifting her into his arms and laying her down on the bed. Settling on her, he started to kiss her neck and she placed a hand to his chest. As much as she wanted to give in, she knew she couldn't. She couldn't form attachments. "Gaston, I can't." he looked at her and nodded, getting up and leaving. Isabelle crawled under her covers and curled onto her side, once again alone in the silence.


	7. VII

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months and Isabelle fell into routine. Wake up at sunrise, do morning exercises, wash face, get dressed, attend practices, discipline if need be, have lunch with Gaston on the roof, more practices, eat dinner, do nightly exercises, bathe, sleep.

Erik had stopped visiting at night altogether. It concerned her, but not enough for it to take over her consciousness totally, but stayed a constant worry at the back corner of her mind. Every night she inspected her mirror, looking for the catch that slid it open.

She was inspecting it one night when she saw a nearly invisible wooden peg sticking perpendicular to the frame. In order to see it you would have to know that it was there. She prodded it and when it slid in, the mirror slid back enough for her to ease her fingers in and slide it open more. A smile perked the corners of her mouth.

When she woke the next morning she did as she always did. She was in breakfast, eating nothing for she was not hungry, when Madame Giry approached her. She sat down next to her and Isabelle looked at her.

"Good morning Madame Giry." She said and Madame Giry nodded at her.

"Good morning Isabelle. I trust you slept well."

"Yes I did, and yourself."

"Well enough. Have you spoken to _him_?"

"No, not for at least two months."

"I see. Have you wondered to the reason why?"

"Yes, but I can see no reason."

"How are things with that's stagehand?"

"Gaston?"

"Yes...Gaston."

"Things are well."

After the first couple weeks, the ballet girls learned that Madame Giry's threat of punishment through physical exertions was not a threat at all, but a promise. Now Isabelle just stood there next to Madame Giry, her pale gaze on all the girls, a constant reminder of what would befall them should they slack off.

Gaston and Isabelle walk on the roof, hand in hand after their lunch.

"Isabelle, you've been mentioning going home."

"If I can, then I will. I have no real place here. Everything I have and am is at my home."

"Then I must confess. If you do leave, I will miss you." Gaston said and stopped, turning her so he could hold both of her hands in his. "I will miss you very much."

"Blast."

"What?"

"I tried so hard not to make an impression, to blend in, stay invisible." She said and he laughed.

"Isabelle, your very personality makes that impossible. You shine as brightly as the sun, attracting the attention of everyone around you. The girls admire you. You are strong and opinionated, you speak freely and with an open mind, you speak your thoughts instead of being silent. You have shown them that there is more to being a woman, that women can do more than just look pretty and hope that they catch the eye of some eligible suitor of high status."

"Did I really?" she asked, surprised and he smiled.

"Yes my Isabelle you did." Cupping her jaw in his hand he kissed her lips shortly. "You should be getting back, Madame Giry will be wanting to find you." He said and she nodded. Leaving the roof, he left her at the practice room.

Isabelle walked along the catwalk that night; towards the one she was going to be lifts at tonight. She saw Gaston and some of his friends standing it, talking. Smiling slightly she quieted her steps and prepared to walk up behind him, to surprise him. She stopped when she heard their talking.

"Is she going to be here tonight?" one of his friends asked.

"I have no idea. She changes her routine every night." Gaston said.

"How are things with her?" Isabelle didn't like the tone of this mans voice, nor the look on his face.

"They're going slowly, very slowly."

"And?" another asked.

"And I'll be lifting her skirts any night now." She said and they laughed. She so didn't like the tone of _his_ voice. She schooled her anger and took several deep breaths.

"Lift my skirts huh? Funny how I'm more comfortable in pants." He turned and looked at her.

"Isabelle..." Striding to him she stood in from of him. "You're not going to slap me?"

"No Gaston I'm not going to slap you." She said and punched him right in the face, knocking him on his rear. "That makes me feel _much_ better." She turned on her heel and strode back to her room, a satisfying ache coming from her knuckles.

As soon as she got in her room she went to the mirror and pressed the catch, flinging the mirror back and walking swiftly down the corridor. She came to the knee-deep canal but she didn't even slow down, just kept walking. The sound of organ music grew louder and she looked at Erik as he sat at his instrument. Striding to him she tackled him, knocking him off the stool and onto the floor, sitting astride his hips with her arms pinning his to the floor.

"You've been avoiding me." She said and he looked up at her.


	8. VIII

Isabelle pinned Erik to the floor, looking down at him.

"Well I'm waiting for an explanation. Why have you been avoiding me?"

"I would think that you would not notice my absence, not with your stagehand constantly at your feet."

"Gaston's a fuckin prick."

"Pardon?"

"Uh...it's a very vulgar insult when I'm from. Now I want my explanation. Why have you been avoiding me? Did I make you angry?"

"No."

"Because if I did I'm sorry."

"You did not anger me."

"Then why?"

"I've been neglecting my duties as a musician."

"And?"

"That is it. Why are you here Mademoiselle Knight?"

"Truthfully."

"Yes." Erik said and she lay down on his chest, her head over his heart.

"I missed you." She said and he lifted his now free hand, stroking her braided hair. "Erik?"

"Yes Belle?"

"Tell me about Christine." She said and his hand paused, his breath catching in his chest. She looked up at him, resting her chin on the center of his chest. "You don't have to, I just..."

"No, it's quite all right. I...loved Christine."

"Loved? You don't anymore?"

"I understand that she is not coming back, that she is happy with her Raoul."

"When did you understand this?"

"When I heard the news that she and Raoul were expecting their first child. It should be three years old now." He paused, his hand sliding to her lower back. It felt as if her breath was a warm liquid, flowing over his chest and pooling on his throat. Her heart beat against his chest and he met her eyes.

"Go on." she said and he did, telling her the same thing Madame Giry had told her, only from his point of view. She stayed silent during this, looking up at him intently.

"Now Mademoiselle." He said finishing. "May I get up?"

"Oh!" she said as if realizing that she was still sitting on him. "Yeah sorry." she got to her feet and offered him a hand, which he didn't take. He stood and looked down at her. "Erik, why do you wear that mask?"

"I must."

"But why?"

"I am...deformed."

"Deformed how?" Isabelle asked and he grew angry suddenly.

"What does it matter how!" he yelled and she perked an eyebrow at him. "Simply accept that I am!"

"Excuse me? Are you yelling at _me_?" she asked calmly.

"Yes in fact I am! I am tired of your arrogance."

"_My_ arrogance? You're tired of _my_ arrogance when you are perhaps the most arrogant man I have met." She then dropped her voice a few octaves. "I am the Phantom of the Opera! Everyone fears me!" she said imitating him and righted her voice. "I mean come on. What the fuck is that all about?" he grabbed her upper arms hard, squeezing them. "Get your hands off of me right now." She said slowly and carefully and he released her, turning and storming away from her, walking into the canal and standing with his back to her.

Isabelle stared at his back for a long time before striding into the water and standing in front of him, turning to face him. He looked down at her, anger still smoldering in his green-gold eyes and she touched his masked cheek. The anger in his eyes faded and something unknown to her entered his eyes. She ran her fingertips very lightly along the superfine white leather, running them along the edge of the mask, half touching his skin and half touching the mask.

"Belle?"

"You know there's something very sexy about this mask, the whole mystery thing. But as much as I like the mask, seeing you without it on seems to attract me more. Like I said...mystery."

"Belle I..." he started but her finger on his lips stopped him from continuing. She gently eased her fingertips under the edge of the mask and carefully lifted it off. He turned his head to the side as soon as it was off, shielding his face from her.

"Erik." She said and placed her hand on his chin, turning his head back. The right side of his face was warped, the eye shrunken in its socket. The flesh was red and inflamed; bumps and furrows decorated it. "Oh my god." She whispered and he turned away from her, covering that side of his face with his hand.

"I am a monster."

"No, you're beautiful." He looked at her then.

"Beautiful, Mademoiselle Knight? Are you feeling ill?"

"No." he turned away again. "Erik look at me." He didn't. "Please Erik." Isabelle rarely pleaded but she was pleading now. "Fine if you want to act like sulking baby, then so be it. I thought you were different, stupid of me huh?" she started to walk back down the canal, throwing his mask down in the water.

"A sulking baby?" he asked and she stopped, looking at him.

"You think no one has deformities but you? You think you are the only one who is different?"

"What do you know of deformity?"

"Just as much as you."

"You know nothing." He said and she stomped towards him through the water. "You know nothing of pain, of sadness, of being lonely."

"You ignorant bastard. I almost pity you." She walked until she was right in front of him. They locked eyes and finally he threw up his hands and walked off, scooping his mask out of the water. She stormed after him and tackled him, sending them both sprawling onto the shore, half in the water and half out. She twisted the mask out of his fingers and tossed it away, looking at him under her. On pure impulse, Isabelle leaned down and kissed his disfigured cheek, he froze and she withdrew, looking him in the eyes.

"Belle I'm sorry." he said.

"For what?"

"This." He said and kissed her, his hand cradling the back of her head. Her lips softened and moved against his. She was actually kissing back.


	9. IX

After a bit they pulled away and Isabelle rested her forehead against his. He sat up and she sat up with him, her legs still locked at his hips.

"Erik, why did you kiss me?"

"Why did you kiss back?"

"Answer mine and I'll answer yours."

"I admire you Isabelle, your strength, your independence, your poetic beauty." His hand came up and he tucked a lock of hair, which had escaped the braid, behind her ear. "Now answer my question."

"I can't, I don't know why." She said and sadness and anger came into his eyes. "It's not pity if that's what you're thinking." Her hand reached up and touched his cheek, her fingertips mapping his jaw. "But what I do know is that I want to kiss you again." She said and did.

Erik left her at her room with one last tender kiss on her forehead, disappearing down the corridor. Water was brought and she bathed in the stone tub that had seemed to have taken up permanent residence in the corner of her room.

Drying off, she relaxed on her bed and quickly fell asleep, her fractured dreams filled with phantoms and white masks.

That morning she found a rose on her pillow. Untying the ribbon from the stem she tied it at the end of her braid when she finished getting dressed.

Everything seemed to have been set on high speed. The actors and dancers were rushing in and out of the costuming rooms for final fittings. Rehearsals seemed to go on forever on repeat. In the chaotic atmosphere of an Opera House the day of a performance, Isabelle was able to slip through the day unnoticed. Madame Giry never once called on her and it seemed she was unneeded. She went back to her room and found Erik in his shirtsleeves laying on her bed with his hands behind his head and his eyes closed. She quietly locked the door and removed her shoes, padding silently to the bed and got on it, astride his lap, her skirts pooled on his stomach and thighs.

His green/gold eyes opened and he smirked up at her. Reaching up and behind her head he wound her long braid around his hand once and used it to bring her in for a fierce kiss. His lips were possessive and dominating, taking control quickly but still managing to remain the softest velvet. His lips parted hers and their tongues danced, each one trying to take control of the other.

In a quick and sudden move she was under him and she wrapped her bare legs around his waist, the smooth material of his trousers sliding against her skin, his hands gently around her neck. Reaching up she took off his mask and dropped it onto the floor over his shoulder. Se broke the kiss and looked at her, she could feel his hand twitching as if he wanted to cover his deformed features.

"Don't you dare." She whispered and kissed him, her hand reaching up to lay her palm against the warped flesh. Sliding her hand up, her fingernail caught on something along his hairline and she broke the kiss to look at her hand. Part of her fingernail was _under_ his hair. With a furrowed brow she ran her nail along his hairline while he looked at her almost fearfully. His hair lifted from his scalp and she looked at him, surprised. "A wig?" he only nodded, closing his eyes shamefully. She peeled off the hairpiece and saw that his deformity ran along the entire right side of his head. His hair was not black by a chestnut brown, but the right side of his head was completely devoid of hair, covered in more twisted, reddened skin.

Her legs came from around his hips and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, laying his head against her chest. He held her with his arms along her sides and his hand on either side of her ribcage. He propped himself up only to unbutton her dress enough so he could press his unmarred skin against her chest, her finger absently stroking his uncovered cheek.

Her fingertips were gentle as they moved along the bumps and furrows in his skin. Her heart beating soundly in his ear. Her breathing evened out, her heartbeat slowing and he looked at her, finding her asleep. Very carefully as to not to disturb her, he removed her dress finding no corset since it seemed she didn't need one, and lay with his arms around her waist, his grabbing fistfuls of her thin undergarment, her heat radiating through it and warming him.

He lay his head in the valley between her breasts and closed his eyes; lulled to sleep by her warmth and the way her body fit perfectly against his.

That night Bizet's work _Carmen_ was performed in honor of the late composer's recent death. She was up on one of the many flies that crisscrossed high above the stage, listening to Carlotta's nasally rendition of Carmen while watching from above. Sensing movement to her left she looked over briefly seeing Gaston walking towards her. She looked back down at the opera below her.

"What do _you_ want?" she asked and he stopped next to her.

"I just wanted to apologize."

"Apology not accepted." She said and there was silence.

"The old fly master met his death up here." He said.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"His name was Buquet right?"

"Yes."

"Buquet killed himself, he wasn't murdered."

"I knew Buquet, he loved life, he would never end his. He was murdered."

"Okay I'll humor you. Who killed him?"

"The Phantom of the Opera." He said and she tried not to laugh.

"The Phantom of Opera is the boogey man of the ballet girls. They're told that if they don't do their drills then the 'Opera Ghost' will haunt them. He doesn't exist." Isabelle said turning to face him.

"He exists."

"Have you ever seen him?"

"Yes."

"Then what does he look like?"

"White mask, black hair, black cloak and a really angry look on his face."

"Wow that's pretty descriptive. You must have gotten a pretty good look at him."

"Yes I did."

"How?"

"He's standing right behind you."


	10. X

All I'm going to say about this chapter is that it shows how much I love my paranormal romance novels.

* * *

Isabelle turned around and saw that Erik was, indeed, behind her. His jaw was stressed in anger, rage boiling in his eyes.

"Gaston, run. Get out of here." Isabelle said, he didn't need to be told twice. The sound of him running away faded.

"Protecting your little stagehand?" Erik asked.

"You're jealous? Its over between Gaston and I, you knew that already. We were just taking about the fly master you killed."

"Ah, yes. Joseph Buquet, he was far too curious. Chasing after me, trying to catch me."

"So you killed him."

"Right where you're standing." He said and she was silent. "Do you hate and fear me now?"

"Why would I?"

"I'm a murderer."

"If I hated you because of that I would be a hypocrite."

"I do not understand."

"I'm a soldier Erik. I've killed more people than you will know in your entire life."

"Why?"

"Murder is accepted in war."

"War? You're at war?"

"I'll explain later." Isabelle said and reached up, touching his face.

Gaston stopped running, noticing that Isabelle wasn't behind him. He listened closely, tuning out the sounds of the opera, searching for her footsteps to show that she was following but he didn't hear him. Fear gripped his heart and a mental image of Isabelle hanging down onto the stage with a noose around her neck filled his mind. He turned and ran back, willing to fight the Phantom to the death to protect her.  
They were still on the walkway, he saw their dim figures and moved closer. He stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening at the sight in front of him. Isabelle and the Opera Ghost were locked in a passionate embrace, kissing as though they were lovers. He had her braid wrapped around his hand, keeping her mouth to his. A breathless whimpering sound reached his trained ears and he looked away. They pulled away and Gaston could swear that he heard the Opera Ghost growl before picking Isabelle up with one arm and in a flourish of his cloak, disappearing silently into the shadows, taking her with him. He raced onto the fly but they were gone and the shadows were still.

Erik carried her down to his home while his mouth continued to ravage hers. He has never felt such animalistic desire before, his body hard and hot with need. With Christine it had been love, but with Isabelle it was pure lust with some affection thrown in.

The canal to the main cavern seemed endless and when they finally got to the shore he leaped off the gondola and pulled her out of it and against his body, making the evidence of his desire for her press against her stomach. She removed his mask and hairpiece, letting both drop to the floor.

"If we're going to do this, I want you as you really are." She said when he looked at her in alarm. Her full acceptance of him softened the urge to rip off her dress and take her on the floor. When he kissed her this time it was slow and gentle, taking the time to explore the warm silk of her mouth with his tongue. Her body relaxed against his, molding perfectly to his hard frame. It seemed as if she were his other half, the missing piece to the puzzle.

He broke the kiss and her summer lilac eyes gazed up at him, half-lidded and cloudy with desire. He kissed her gently again and she unhooked his cape, allowing it to fall to the floor in a wave of silk and velvet.

"Erik," she said between kisses and had to put her fingers to his lips to hold him back, his hands around her waist. "There's something I should tell you before we get any further."

"What?" he asked, looking at her curiously.

"It will take a bit of explaining."

"Then explain."

"In my time, there are not marriages of love anymore. In fact there are no marriages, there's pairings. The Elders choose a woman's mate based on physical, mental, and emotional compatibility, also if the woman is healthy enough to sustain multiple births."

"Again I do not understand."

"Erik, the women of my time are not only soldiers and healers, but they are what this time period would call brood-mares, we call them breeders. The women are enhanced to carry multiple infants at once and deliver them safely and in complete health."

"But why?"

"To create more soldiers. Once I am paired and give birth, my children will be taken away from me to be put in a compound where they will be trained to become soldiers. I will never know my children, just like I never knew my parents."

"How does this relate to what you had to tell me?" Erik asked, and she started to run her hands up and down his arms.

"I'm not paired."

"All right?"

"It is forbidden for a woman to have sexual relations before pairing. And since I'm not paired..."

"You're an innocent." Erik finished and she nodded.

"Yes Erik, I am a virgin." She looked down almost shamefully and he tilted her head up.

"You are not alone. I have lived down here since I was a child, I was hoping that Christine would be my first and only, but I know now, I have known, that it was not to be. Since you appeared in my hollow existence, I have not been able to stay away from you. My body aches for you, my soul screams your name. Can you not hear it? It is deafening to me." Erik said and gently kissed her lips, wrapping her in his warm embrace. Picking her up in his arms he carried her to his bed and laid her down, pulling the cord and allowing the gossamer curtain to twinkle like a star lit night in the candlelight.


	11. XI

Erik looked at the pale, bare back of a sleeping Isabelle, several battle scars disrupting the otherwise velvet plane of her skin. Moving forward, he kissed the smooth line of her shoulder, his hand caressing her arm and heard her wake, her eyes fluttering open. Her hair hid most of her face from him and he moved it away, looking at her. He looked at her mouth, still a deep rose from his kisses and recalled when a small pained sound escaped those lips when he had slid into her warmth, breaking her thin, protective barrier.

He ran his thumb along her full bottom lip and she reached up with her hand that wasn't trapped under her side to stroke his marred cheek. He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss against her neck and her fingers stroked the back of his head, twirling his hair in her fingertips. She rolled onto her back and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, holding her to him.

"My beautiful Erik." She whispered and he felt tears prick the back of his eyes at her tender words, at the memory of how she had stroked his skin, both marred and unmarred, as he had made love to her.

"Never leave me Belle, never go." He whimpered into her skin and she held his face in her hands, making him look at her.

"If I don't, then my government will track me down and drag me back."

"I'll stop them."

"They'll kill you if you try. I don't want your death on my conscience." She said burying her face in his neck.

"Tell me about this war of yours." He said and she sighed against his skin making him shudder. He turned them onto their sides so he could lay his hands on her back.

"It's not _my_ war. Its been going on for seventy years my time. It started out as just a war against terrorism, then it turned into a war for oil, a few more countries got involved and its final phase was a world war, the Third World War."

"Third? That means..."

"That there were two others? That's right. But that's not something for me to tell." Isabelle said and shivered as he started to run his fingertips up and down her spine. "I cannot tell you more, I wish I could, but I am restricted from giving you that information." She said and he nodded against her. "Now, Erik. Tell me about your childhood." He went very still in his arms.

"It was not a happy one." He warned.

"I still want to know."

"If you so wish. My mother, even though I loved her a great deal, hated and feared me because of..." he rubbed his marred cheek against her skin. "When I was just a child, there was a group of travelling performers in town, gypsies. She sold me to them. I remember her cold words to this day 'take him, rid me of this creature, take the Devils' Child' I remember calling out to her, promising that I'll be good, apologizing for whatever wrong deed that I had done to make her give me away. But she had turned her back on me and was walking away, I remember crying out and calling her mother, she stopped, turned and said, 'I have no child'." His voice caught, faltered and she felt the hotness of the tears against her shoulder.

"Erik, you don't have to finish."

"No, I do. For the next five years I was put on display at the 'Devils' Child'. I was put in a cage with only straw for a bed. I remember the people coming in and out of the room, their laugher and screams, my keeper would beat me in front of them with stick for no reason at all." He said and her hands ran over the scars on his sides from these beatings, her touch momentarily chasing away these terrible memories. "Then one night, we were in Paris and a group of ballet dancers from this Opera house came in. One of them was Antoinette Rousseau, who is now Madame Giry. She didn't not laugh, she did not scream, she just stood there, looking at me in sympathy and pity. After they were gone and my keeper was counting the coins took the rope binding me to my cell and I strangled him. He was the first man I had I ever killed. But I didn't know I still had an audience, Antoinette was still there. Instead of screaming and yelling for the police she helped me escape from them and hid me here. Here I've been ever since." Erik finished and she took her face from his neck, reaching up and brushing the tears from his face.

"You're forty, right?" she asked suddenly.

"You are amazingly accurate. Why do you ask?"

"How old were you when you came to live at the Opera House?"

"Ten. Why the questions?"

"Just curious." Isabelle said and hid her face against his chest.

"Isabelle," he started and she looked at him, placing her fingers on his lips to keep him from saying more.

"Trust me Erik." She said and he nodded, lightly sucking on the tip of her index finger and releasing it.

* * *

"Okay, Monsieur, calm down and tell me again what you saw for the Managers." Madame Girl said and Gaston took another drink out of the wine bottle. He had come to her first, as she was Isabelle's employer and told her what he had seen on the flies. One of the ballet girls had called in Andre and Firmin, and they were all now sitting back stage.

"I was up on the flies with Isabelle, Mademoiselle Knight."

"Why?" Andre asked.

"She had been viewing the Opera from above and we started to talk. Our talk had turned to Buquet and the event of his death when...he showed up."

"Who?" Firmin asked.

"The Opera Ghost." Gaston said and a frightened ripple moved through the ballet girls who were close by. Andre attempted to laugh it off.

"The Opera Ghost? Now I know you've been drinking too much wine. He left the Opera House after Miss Daae married the Vicomte." He said.

"Just like he had left after Buquet died?" Gaston said and Andre's smile fled.

"Then what happened?" Firmin asked.

"She told me to run, to leave her. I did, but only under the assumption that she would be following. She didn't and I went back to try to defend her." he said.

"Tell us what you saw."

"Isabelle and the Phantom were...embraced. Kissing with such passion that it could only suggest that they were...lovers. He picked her up in his arms and vanished." Gaston said and took another swallow of wine. Shocked whispers began to circle among the girls and Madame Giry silenced them.

"And now?" Andre asked.

"Monsieur," Meg Giry spoke up and they looked at her. "After I first heard Monsieur Fly Master's story I went to Mademoiselle Knight's room. Her door was unlocked and her room was vacant of her." the whispers started again and again Madame Giry ceased them.

"Are you all talking about me?" in the opposite doorway stood a lively looking Isabelle in her dress from earlier and her hair pulled back into its tight French braid. Her cheeks were flushed and she was smiling.

"Isabelle!" Gaston said and stood, moving towards her. She stepped back.

"Calm down and sit down." She said and he sat back down.

"Mademoiselle Knight, will you kindly tell us where you were these last few hours?" Firmin inquired.

"Yes of course Monsieur. I was on the roof." She said simply.

"Doing what?"

"Soaking in some night air. Was I really gone a few hours?"

"Yes Mademoiselle you were. I assume you've heard Gaston's story?"

"Yes and it is nothing but a story, the obvious culprit of too much wine. The Opera Ghost? He doesn't exist, and if he did, he does no more. He is now merely a specter in which to frighten the ballet girls into obedience." Isabelle said.

"And how do we know you are telling the truth?" Andre asked.

"I can vouch for her Monsieur." Madame Giry said. "She has never lied to me or anyone, she is quite truthful and trustworthy. Gaston has probably had too much wine this evening."

"I haven't..." Gaston started.

"Monsieur Fly Master, I suggest you stay away from the wine bottle. We don't need another reminder of the dark past of the Opera House after five years peace." Firmin said and then addressed every one. "Now I suggest that you all go back to your chambers and go to sleep. It has been a long night for everyone."

"And Mademoiselle Knight, next time you think about taking a moonlit stroll on the roof, please do tell someone, we wouldn't want a repeat of this." Andre said with a small smile and she smiled back, bowing her head at him.

"Yes of course Monsieur, it won't happen again." She said.

"There! It's settled then!" Andre said. "We should all take Firmin's advice and go back to bed. Night all!" he said and they swept from the room.

"I suggest that you go back to your quarters Monsieur," Madame Giry said looking at Gaston. "And sleep off the wine." Gaston nodded and left, but not without shooting a look at Isabelle saying that this wasn't over. Since the excitement was now past, the ballet girls went back to their dormitories leaving Madame Giry and Isabelle alone. "You were with him tonight weren't you? Intimately, with him."

"That's really none of your business Madame Giry."

"When it concerns him, it is my business."

"What happens between him and I, stays between him and me. He told me of your role in his childhood. I only hope I can help as you did." She said, changing the subject.

"It is the past Isabelle, you cannot change the past." Madame Giry said and a strange little smile came over the younger woman's face.

"You should never say something like that to someone like me Madame Giry."

"Why not?"

"Because we tend to do just that, change the past. Now I must retire Madame Giry, I am very tired. I will see you in the morning." Isabelle said and left, leaving Madame Giry alone and thinking about her cryptic statement.


	12. Message

Wondering why this story hasn't been updated in like forever

Wondering why this story hasn't been updated in like _forever?_

See my profile for details!


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